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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092067">Coffee Fixes Everything Even Broken Hearts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernerinSpace/pseuds/NorthernerinSpace'>NorthernerinSpace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dwarf (UK TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mild Language, Rating May Change, Unrequited Crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:15:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernerinSpace/pseuds/NorthernerinSpace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lister is a struggling Engineering student with a crush on the barista he loves to wind up. </p><p>A cafe AU because I'm craving coffee and feelings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer, Kristine Kochanski/Dave Lister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. black coffee, six sugars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dave Lister sighed into his third coffee of the day.</p><p>The café bell rang with the slog of rush hour workers hoping to cram some baked goods into their lunch hour. Lister had already used up all the paper he’d brought to set up a miniature Zero G footie match. Well - there was no Zero G in the café, so it was a regular football match. Actually, without an opponent, it was more like a penalty shootout. He should have known he wouldn’t have been able to focus on his work here; not just because the work was tedious but because <em>he</em> was working today.</p><p>The tall lanky barista who religiously spilt Lister’s coffee, burnt his pain au chocolat and said ‘<em>Bon Appetit’</em> to every customer <em>except</em> him.  And yet.</p><p>Lister always came back.</p><p>To anyone who’d ask, he’d say that he was lazy by nature and a café that was almost directly on his doorstep was too convenient for him to be bothered that the coffee tasted like charcoal. To himself he could admit, he found great joy in winding up the barista by making up the most ludicrous gag names to put on his coffee cup.</p><p>Today’s name was Chris Peacock. He wondered when the barista would give up yelling out his order name.</p><p>It was worth all the burnt coffee to see his ears and face slowly burn red when the realisation set in. His eyes squinting in annoyance. His nose wrinkling in distaste.</p><p>Lister sighed again dumping another sugar in his already sugar-laden black coffee. The queue was a mile long today, so the tall man had his work cut out for him. Although he couldn’t make a decent brew to save his life, the barista was good at filling out orders.</p><p>Making them consumable, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. Lister watched the man work himself into a tizzy trying to make three teas, a latte and three hot chocolates at once whilst warming up several baked goods. All he ended up doing was dunking the tea bags in the hot chocolate, overfilling the mugs and burning all the pastries. Lister guessed that everyone knew how bad this café tended to mess things up but knew they could get a discount on their butchered food. How this place made money he couldn’t figure it out.</p><p>The café was well-placed, the only café near numerous office buildings and flats – maybe it was convenient for everyone else too?</p><p>What wasn’t convenient was how Lister’s voice would catch when they spoke. That was just embarrassing. Every time they spoke, he’d put his foot in his mouth and insult the smeghead and they’d spend ten minutes arguing before Lister would be forced to take his coffee and find a seat, with a view of the till, to muck around in for an hour.</p><p> It was their routine. The only exception, Lister mused, was his first visit to the rundown place.</p><p> He had been there to have a ‘talk’ with Kristine Kochanski. The only one ‘talking’ was Krissie. They’d sat in a small booth at the front where they could watch the people run from the rain pouring down.  They’d not even ordered yet before she announced she didn’t want to see him anymore.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Dave. We’re different people. You’re sweet and kind and any girl would be lucky to have you but…” She paused, looking over at a child mashing their food into paste. “I can’t be the person you want me to be. It’s not fair to you or to me.”</p><p>He could feel tears build behind his eyes. He clenched a fist around a napkin and continued to try and memorise her face. There was no sign of the pinball smile he had fallen in love with. “I hope one day we can be friends again.” She must have realised that he wasn’t going to respond anytime soon. His words had gone walkabout and all he was left with a hole in his chest.  </p><p>“I’ll see you Dave. Take care.”</p><p>Most of his mental energy was spent on him trying not to cry in public so he hardly noticed when Krissie patted his hand, left him money for a coffee and walked out of the café and his life.</p><p>He couldn’t say how long it was that he was sat there, staring at his head blankly like it was a test written entirely in Spanish, but it was long enough for the barista to appear. The man stared down at him indecisively.</p><p>Lister thought he looked rather constipated.</p><p>The man cleared his throat before looking down his nose at him. “As you are no doubt aware, it is company policy for any customer seated in the seating to have consumed or be in the process of consuming refreshments purchased from this establishment.” The man paused to gesture to Lister’s empty table. “Any individual seen not to be purchasing refreshments will be required to leave. So…”</p><p>The barista placed a large mug of black coffee on the table before about turning and striding off to tend to the customers that had wandered in from the rain. Lister blinked slowly, still staring where the man had appeared. After a moment of confusion, Lister shrugged and dumped six sugars in. One sip told him the coffee was burnt. A second sip told him it would need more than six sugars. Lister’s gaze floated over to the barista who was cutting a scone haphazardly. He allowed himself a small smile before downing the entire mug. He picked up his jacket, left the money on the table and walked out in the rain, but not before glancing back at the barista who was struggling to open the till drawer and was attempting to pry it open with a spoon.</p><p>That had been over three months ago. Krissie had text him to apologise and to tell him she was seeing Tim from her Navigation course. It had been a punch to the gut. Swiftly followed by a kick to the groin when he had saw them on campus cosied together with their textbooks. He left the library immediately after that, dumping his books on the overdue trolley and hightailing it to the nearest student bar. His coursemate, Petersen, had found him in a bush the next morning curled up with a traffic cone. Safe to say Lister didn’t go to the library anymore except for when it was late at night so he could pick up new textbooks.</p><p>The café wasn’t too loud for studying and it did have its perks. Lister kicked off his shoes and rested his feet on the couch opposite him. The red vinyl squeaked under his moth-eaten socks.</p><p>A cloth was swiped at his feet. “Move your feet off the chair.” The barista demanded, piling the mess Lister had made of the napkins into a bin.</p><p>Lister smirked. “Make me, smeghead.” His feet squeaked against the vinyl. The man's eye twitched.</p><p>Yeah, there were perks alright.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. burnt coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I'm not sure on the rating with the mild swearing...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Tuesday afternoon when Lister arrived at the café to a loud alarm wailing.  </p><p>He darted inside, the doorbell barely audible underneath the noise. The café was distinctly emptier with more disgruntled faces than usual. A businessman with a handlebar moustache furiously typed at a laptop and slurped a green tea whilst he glared at the offending noise.  A young woman with a perfectly coiffed beehive, her fingers pinched between her eyes, reading the same paragraph repeatedly, no doubt.</p><p>However, one disgruntled face caught his eye. The barista, his uniform covered in soot and his slick curls in disarray, was harassing the fire alarm with a broom. It was an interesting contrast to his usually immaculate uniform which gave Lister pause, before he shook his head and strolled over to the till.</p><p>“Hey smeghead, what’d that alarm ever do to you?” Lister said, dumping his bag on the counter.</p><p>“The blasted thing has been going off all day. It won’t shut up,” the barista looked pointedly at Lister before continuing to bang the broom, his tirade punctuated by the broom’s dull thuds, “the mechanic won’t turn up till Wednesday and nothing else is working. I’ve had more customers leave than when they hired an amateur Take That tribute act for poetry evening.” The man rubbed angrily between his eyes before propping his bristled weapon against the wall.</p><p>Lister slid over the counter. His boots scuffed across the marble, leaving muddied trail marks in his wake.</p><p>“Here, give us a go” said Lister, grabbing the abandoned ladder. “Where’s your toolkit?”</p><p>“What? No! You’ll break it.”</p><p>Lister shot him a look of sheer disbelief. “More than it is?”</p><p>The barista cleared his throat with a glare. “Either way, it’s against health and safety for non-professionals to handle company property, never mind being behind the counter when you’re not officially employed--”</p><p>Still holding the ladder under arm, Lister stuck out his hand to interrupt. “The name’s Lister. I’m a mechanic. Is that professional enough for you?”</p><p>The barista scrunched his nose like a Nissan in a car crash, “Do you have ID or-”  </p><p>“What do you want? My birth certificate? Look, let me fix the smegging fire alarm before we all go deaf.” Lister’s hand was still extended for a handshake. Awkwardly, it hung in the air. It seemed like the barista wouldn’t shake it but when he began to pull back, the man grasped his hand firmly. It was warm, but clammy, and soft. </p><p>“Arnold J. Rimmer SSc BSc.”</p><p>Lister chuckled. “Are you having a laugh? BSc? SSc? And who names their kid <em>Arnold</em>?” The aforementioned Arnold J. Rimmer turned crimson and Lister could feel his palm sweat in his hand.</p><p> Lister shook his hand twice and gently pulled away, setting up the ladder under the ever-wailing alarm. Rimmer continued to blush angrily and with an air of indignation, strode past Lister to a cupboard, wrenched the door open and pulled out a toolbox. The barista shoved the box into his arms, his fingers brushing the sleeves of his jacket before marching off to clean the soot off his arms.</p><p>Lister dawdled before setting about to work. He could guess what was wrong with the alarm. His Gran’s fire alarm had been on the fritz often and it was always the internal battery. From atop the ladder, trying to pry the cover off with his fingers, Lister watched Rimmer’s curls unravel further with the exertion of scrubbing the soot off his arms. With Lister’s newfound height, Rimmer’s head was level with his chest and absentmindedly he wondered how he would react if Lister ruffled his hair.</p><p>Admittedly, this wasn’t how Lister anticipated to be spending his afternoon. He had expected to procrastinate with a terrible mug of coffee, doodling instead of planning his essay, and winding Rimmer up by spitballing the menu board. He had yet to hit the ‘o’ in coffee, but he was getting closer each day.</p><p>Lister’d have to find another way to wind him up. And to his credit, it didn’t take long.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Lister had his head buried in the toolbox, looking for a screwdriver, when Rimmer squawked in a pitch only dogs and aliens could hear. The sudden shriek caused Lister to bang his head on the counter.</p><p>“What the smeg was that about?”</p><p>“There’s mud <em>all </em>over this counter. Were you raised in a <em>gutter</em>? I spent all morning cleaning this, you goit! Before you know it, there’ll be more mud than coffee in our mugs. I’ll start a new blend - café au dirt, shall I?”</p><p>Lister smirked which sent the barista’s nostrils aquiver. </p><p>“Can’t be any worse than your current blend.”</p><p>“Why do you drink it if you don’t like it?” Rimmer was at a loss and Lister wasn’t much better off. The coffee was terrible and burnt and yet he kept drinking it.</p><p>He shrugged and hid his blush in the toolbox. He didn’t know. He’d asked himself the same thing whenever he’d find himself staring down at the brown horror, but whenever he opened his mouth to order hot chocolate, his brain would skip back to that first brew. He’d falter at Rimmer’s expectant face and ask for a black coffee. The taste may have been horrific but it still warmed him and wasn’t that enough?</p><p>“I can’t taste much anymore. Sugar hides most of the taste.”</p><p>Rimmer scoffed. He wrung out a cloth before he began to scrub the counter. “Why not just order a mug of sugar and be done with it? I’ve seen how much sugar you pile in, miladdo and it’s enough to give diabetes to a small army.”</p><p>Lister gave him a blank look. “There’s no caffeine in sugar, you smeghead - now let me get on with this.” He shook his head, trying not to stare at Rimmer’s arms as he worked, and went back to trying to find a screwdriver.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There was a slow trickle of customers as Lister worked getting the cover of the alarm off with the screwdriver.</p><p>Despite the blaring noise, people persisted going about their lives like the cacophony was the soothing classical music that they were accustomed to. Rimmer wheedled and coerced customers into trying the shop’s own blend which had its own special taste of terrible.  Unsurprisingly, no-one bought it.</p><p>Even with being up in arms about the muddy tracks, Lister thought Rimmer looked exhausted. His hair, usually wrangled, gelled and forced into submission, was ruffled with his curls taking off in more directions than a Skelmersdale roundabout. He was paler than normal even with the angry blush covering his cheeks and Lister caught him drifting off in the middle of ramblings. He had mixed up orders no less than seven times in the thirty minutes Lister had been there.</p><p>“Hey man, ain’t there a law against only one person working alone in a café? How come there’s never anyone working with you?”</p><p>“What are you talking about, you goit? Of course there is.” Rimmer said, looking sheepishly.</p><p>Lister pointedly looked around the shop. “Now I know you’re having me on-” he said through a mouth full of screwdriver as he prised the alarm cover off, “-there’s no-one here”.</p><p>From Lister’s vantage point he could see the tips of Rimmer’s ears were burning red and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Rimmer’s brow furrowed before he gestured to the corner tucked behind a fridge. Lister leant over the top of the ladder which wobbled in warning. He could just about spot something beige crumpled in the corner.</p><p>“You killed your co-worker!”</p><p> The ladder toppled as Lister turned to gawp at the barista. He went falling to the floor, taking Rimmer out with him with an “oof”.</p><p>People turned to stare as he found himself lying on top of Rimmer, but all Lister could hear was his heart pounding and the blood rushing to his face. The adrenaline of the fall must have been kicking in. Time seemed to stretch out; it was the awkwardness - he was sure of it. It was weird he’d always thought Rimmer’s eyes were brown but they looked green from up close. Rimmer was the first to rush to his feet, leaving Lister dazed and questioning why anyone would wear such a terrible cologne. Rimmer dragged the slump figure by the foot from out the corner.</p><p>“Don’t be thick – it’s a mechanoid. ”</p><p>The mechanoid was charred and grimy like the dregs of Rimmer’s coffee. It didn’t look like one of the newer robots with their uncanny valley faces, instead it was the robotic love child of a crash test dummy and the world’s beigest Rubix cube. Lister felt sorry for the deactivated mech. No-one deserved to be left in a corner to rot. On reflection no-one deserved to have to work with Rimmer either.</p><p>“What the smeggin' hell did you do?” Lister poked at its head which was loosely attached to its torso, most of the neck wires had detached themselves.</p><p>“Why do you assume I  did anything? Maybe he was already like this?” Lister stared at him blankly. “Look. All I told him to do was brew the coffee, clean out the coffee grounds, empty the bins, scrub the ceiling tiles, count the coffee beans, restock the pastries and then– voila! No more WALL-E. The big wigs won’t send a new one as technically there’s still two employees on the premises. Gits. Didn’t even send a functioning one in the first place. It’s like they’re trying to make me look bad.”</p><p>Lister guffawed. “Believe me Rimmer. You don’t need help with that.”</p><p>Rimmer smiled thinly, his eyes thin slits, his nostrils wide as the Channel Tunnel.</p><p>“The only thing I need help with, Lister, is getting this scrap heap to the bins. Maybe then they’ll send someone who can carry out an order.” Rimmer said kicking the mechanoid’s feet with a clunk.</p><p>“If we’re tossing out crap that can’t make an order you’d be first in the bin, smeghead. Here’s betting I can fix him by the end of the month.” Lister said as he finally pulled out the dead battery from the alarm. The sudden silence was louder than the wailing and briefly he wondered if he had lost his hearing. “If I fix him, you owe me one. If I don’t, I owe you one. Sound alright?”</p><p>Rimmer laughed derisively. “Oh, this should be good. You’re on, Listy. Hope you like the smell of coffee grounds, miladdo.”</p><p>Lister tossed him the dud battery. It hit Rimmer’s chest and dropped to his feet.</p><p>“Good thing I’m an engineering student, ain’t it?” He smirked.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The more I write, the more I think I need to edit this in the end.</p><p>Thank you for all the lovely comments &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. a cup of tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rebuilding a robot was difficult; especially a model so defunct that it didn’t even have receive system updates anymore. But he’d already put his boot in his mouth and one thing Lister knew was he never backed down from a challenge.</p><p>His flat was quieter than Lister could bear.</p><p>The shop downstairs had closed since the riots and the flat hadn’t been the same since his Gran had died a few months back. He hadn’t had the heart to clean her stuff out, or his own for that matter. The floor was more bottle than carpet at this point. Every one of her coasters that she had squirreled away from pubs was in use and he hadn’t got round to boxing her clothes away.</p><p>When Petersen came round, they ended up using the beer crates as seats because Lister didn’t  want to risk losing the butt groove on her chair. Between his coursework and his new pet project, he didn’t have much time for slacking off. Not that it stopped him from knocking back the lager, he always felt he did things better when he was slightly trolleyed.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Lister was on his third shot of whisky when the mech’s clunky baseball glove-shaped hand twitched. He’d already debugged the AI on a bender that lasted a week. He started on the Monday and found himself hungover on the Sunday with the software completely patched up.  </p><p>The hardware stuff - now that was tricky. Lots of burnt out parts and soldering. The disbelieving look on Rimmer’s face would be worth the burns, he thought when he shoved yet another burnt finger in his mouth. What Rimmer had done – because he absolutely had done something to the poor sod – Lister had no clue but rewiring the head took half a week and by the end all he could see behind his eyelids at night were smegging wires.</p><p>Interwoven, tangled wires.</p><p>Melting. Burnout, fraying.</p><p>The hand twitched again as he finished connecting the arm to its socket. Lister could guess most of what went where but he was certain a few vital pieces had been shoved into slots they weren’t meant to go.</p><p>Lister hoped Rimmer wouldn’t notice until long after he’d won the bet. The thought of an irate Rimmer speechless made Lister chuckle. Lister hadn’t been back to the coffee shop since the bet had started and Lister had come up with several new ways to wind the man up in his absence. He’d even bought a box of chalk in preparation and a reusuable straw. Lister was getting bored and the flat was unbearably quiet most days, and tormenting the barista made the boredom a little easier.</p><p>Whatever time he didn’t spend staring blankly at the blinking line on his coursework’s word document, Lister spent blindly fixing the mechanoid.</p><p>The mech’s hand twitched again and the joints groaned. Lister was soldering the last of the hip wires when  the robot lurched upright tupping Lister with his thick beige head. He cursed dropping the soldering iron on his hand before letting loose a scream at a pitch he hadn’t reached since his sham glam days.  Reflexively he stuck his fingers in his mouth to soothe the burn.</p><p>“Oh, my apologies Sir! I am so so sorry! Please, let me assist.” The robot abruptly began to move off the table, swinging his legs over the side.</p><p>The calibrations for his spacial awareness must have been off, Lister thought dimly as the steel feet connected with his meat and two vegs. The pain dropped him like a sack of potatoes, a whine of agony whistling through his clenched teeth.</p><p>His eyes were watering. No bet was worth this. None.</p>
<hr/><p>By the end of the day, the mech who he learnt is called Kryten has dowsed everything including the tv in dish soap. Now the screen glitches black and white and it screeches when the sound reaches a certain pitch. Lister has managed to squirrel away his gran’s coasters from Kryten’s haphazard clean-a-thon but to his unending horror, the butt groove is gone and the pain of seeing it gone hurts more than a robot kick to the balls. It’s not Kryten’s fault – he didn’t know – but Lister has to get out of the house before he either breaks down yelling or screaming and he’s not certain which’ll come first.</p><p>He’d won the bet, at least.</p><p>He should take Kryten back and claim his prize but part of him wonders if the mech would last five minutes before Rimmer broke him again.</p><p>Even after a day of Kryten looking after his every need, part of him was still angry about the butt-grove. Nothing would bring that back. And so he snuck out when Kryten started shredding the takeaway menus he’d been hoarding to wrap the Christmas presents that year.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The bell above the coffee shop jingled as Lister crept in and what felt suspiciously like eagerness seeps over him.</p><p>Had the smeghead noticed he was gone? It had been less than two weeks but the relief that swept over him at the sight of Rimmer’s sneering face took Lister by surprise. Nothing about the scrunched up nose and flaring nostrils was welcoming, but Lister still found himself grinning smugly up at those squinty eyes.</p><p>‘Giving up on our bet already, Listy? Thought it’d be easy for an engineering student or did you forget how to use a hammer?’ Rimmer guffawed pouring a tea for an elderly lady who’s counting out her coins so slowly they’d invent edible pot noodles before she’d ever finish. The cane she had clutched in her hand</p><p>‘You wish, Rimsy. I’m just here for a pick-me-up.’ A hoard of bright coloured postik notes stuck to every work surface caught Lister’s eye. ‘Looks like I’m not the one forgetting things, mate. You forget how to heat up milk?’ Lister leaned over the pastry display case on his tiptoes to reach a green postik note stuck on the other side of the cookie jar. ‘The speed of light is 30km per hour? That seems a bit slow. My gran’s scooter went faster than that.’ The lady tittered into her purse and the tips of Rimmer’s ears bloom red. Lister even spied some red creeping up the back of his neck just peeking above his collar as the petty smegger leans forward and starts plucking the coins off the counter briskly.</p><p>‘Thank you very much for your patronage, madam. Your tea will be at the end of the far counter. Have a good day.’ He said all this with the cup of tea in his hands. The lady stood waiting for her tea at the till before Rimmer pointedly walked to the other end of the counter and plonks the tea down. He then marched off into the storage cupboard to avoid the baffled stares they’re sending his way. Lister rolled his eyes and sidled over to the end of the counter to pick up the tea. He escorted the woman to her chair with her tea and she hooked her hand round his elbow for balance as she hobbled over with her cane. She gently patted his elbow in thanks and settled into the chair with a crossword.</p><p>Lister strode back to the counter and rang the service bell loudly. Rimmer popped his head round out the doorway with a glare. For the millionth time, Lister had to ask himself why he subjects himself to this man. Watching Krissie cosy up to Tim in the library would be easier than handling Rimmer’s fragile ego. Lister waves cheekily. What was it gran would say – you’ll catch more flies with honey?</p><p>‘Oi, smeghead. Fancy makin’ us a brew or what?’</p><p>Warily, Rimmer came out of the cupboard with a broom and a sneer and starts reluctantly brewing Lister’s normal coffee order. Why did this man decide to work with people? Why didn’t Lister give up and order hot chocolate for a change?</p><p>‘You often rude to old ladies or is today just a special occasion?’ Lister asked with a slight frown, glancing at the woman who is now unsticking a Werthers Original from its packet.</p><p>‘I was perfectly polite. Company guidelines state that all beverages must be served on the designated distribution area.’ The self satisfied smirk on Rimmer’s face was sickly. No-one should get that much satisfaction obeying the rules especially when it’s just to get one over on a pensioner.</p><p>‘You are the only smegger I know that’s polite just to be petty. So, what - you got somethin’ wrong and she laughed? You’re pettier than a cat in a bath or the guy who’s been waiting in line for three hours and someone pushes in front and takes the last sausage roll. ‘ Rimmer placed the naff coffee in front of Lister. There were congealed coffee grounds floating at the rim of the mug but Lister resisted the urge to ask for a sieve.</p><p>‘Ah ah ah,’ Rimmer tutted, wagging his finger in disagreement, ‘that’s where you are wrong, Listy. Absolutely wrong. You know why? I would never wait in a queue for a sausage roll. Why would I waste my time waiting for the driest, blandest cuisine known to this backwater planet? I would no sooner eat a sausage roll than I’d put my hair in rollers and do the can-can.’</p><p>Lister took a sip of his brew. Two weeks hadn’t improved Rimmer’s coffee-making abilities. 

‘Should’ve known you’d have poor taste.’

Rimmer’s mouth pursed and he frowned thoughtfully at Lister who was grimacing at the coffee’s bizarre after-tang.</p><p>‘Possibly.’ Rimmer muttered after a pause before the café’s door clanged open and in stomped Kryten, frilly apron and all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know nothing about robots. Absolutely nothing.</p><p> I struggled to write this - at all. Hopefully next chapter will have more stuff happen but I felt like I dragged this out too long but I don't have the headspace to edit right now. I'll probably edit when I'm done.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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